Columbia
by Contort
Summary: Terrorists kidnap and hold the Vulcan Ambassador's son ransom, sending Starfleet into a panic and highlighting some of the longest and most confusing days of Spock's life. AU


**This Story** is an **Alternate Universe**. The world, any worlds as we know them, do not exist, at least not to the knowledge of the characters within.

**Warnings:** Rated M, which means that there will be some gratuitous swearing, some violence, and one instance of non-consensual touching.

**Pairings**: Spock/Uhura Any and all other pairings dwell within your imagination. If you believe McCoy and M'Benga are doing the horizontal polka in the back Medbay or Sulu and Chekov are playing footsie under the navigation console, it's totally fine by me.

**Author's Notes: **This story has consumed my attention for the past week, but due to finals and Christmas shopping, it's been slow going. The idea for this story came from a dream, where I imagined a Stockholm Syndrome situation, but with nameless, faceless males instead of the characters you'll see. This is kind of experimental to me, and you may think this story sucks. Constructive Criticism is encouraged. I hope you at least enjoy the premise, and perhaps some of the story. The title, by the way, is a metaphor.

Also, excessive thanks go to Memory Alpha, without whose references, this story would never have existed.

**Disclaimer:** Gene Roddenberry created Star Trek, J.J. Abrams made an alternate reality, and I just contorted the whole goop.

* * *

The Year 2266. Spock is 36, Uhura is 33, Jim is 33, McCoy is 39, Sulu is 29, Chekov is 25.

* * *

**Columbia**

* * *

Space Shuttle _Columbia_: A NASA space shuttle that disintegrated in the Earth's atmosphere in 2003, resulting in the deaths of all seven crewmembers. The doomed shuttle was lost due to damages sustained during its launch.

* * *

The Captain rested in his chair, completely absorbed in the PADD in his hands. His ship was battered and his crew exhausted. The Klingon warbirds had refused to negotiate, refused to surrender, and had ultimately been destroyed for their obstinacy. Engineering decks reported limited power reserves, and, all in all, the flagship of the Federation was not in the most pristine condition.

"Captain." The First Officer came up to the chair, standing at attention beside him. "Captain," he repeated.

Captain Spock looked up from his distressing paperwork, immediately sitting up from his uncharacteristic slump. "Mr. Sulu, forgive my lack of focus."

"No problem," the Asian smiled briefly and returned to his serious manner, "There's an incoming transmission from the Admiralty. I'm surprised you didn't notice…"

Spock's eyes turned, of their own accord, to the communications station, where a bookish man was muttering into a headset. He shook himself mentally and returned his attention to his First. "I apologize for my unusual distraction. Please, establish a video connection."

The vid screen flared to life; mostly clear except for the occasional jump or glitch. Spock mentally added broadcasting equipment to the list of repairs to be made. The video of the Admiralty showed the aged men sitting around one of their conference tables, staring into their vid screen.

"Captain Spock," began Admiral Archer, "We received your report over the incident that occurred in the neutral zone 20 hours ago. Everything is as you transcribed it?"

Spock nodded and spoke, "As far as my knowledge extends, the report is accurate. There are some damages to the ship that may not have been reported as of yet, as our engineering crew has been working steadily to maintain the impulse thrusters and reserve generators to maintain life support systems, but the number of injuries and fatalities remains unchanged."

Admiral Pike flipped through the pages in his PADD. "Three Klingon warbirds? What were they doing out there, and why did they fire on a Federation starship in the neutral zone? Even the Klingon Empire would not approve of such an unwarranted act of violence."

"It certainly bears investigation," agreed Admiral Archer, "But the main issue is the state of the _Enterprise_. I'm pulling you and your crew off of the active duty list. Head to the nearest station and conduct full repairs. Let your crew take shore leave and get your ship up to standard function, understood?"

"Yes, sir." The admiral and the captain nodded to one another and the com link was terminated.

"Lieutenant Chekov," Spock called to the helm, "What is the nearest docking station and how long do you approximate we will have to travel to reach it?"

"Ze nearest station is a Federation-based dock called Analogous V. Vith our current impulse power, ze journey vill take approximately three hours, Keptin," the young Russian responded.

"Very well, set our course."

Spock sat back in his chair again, abandoning some of his Vulcan rigidity for the simple comfort of having a chair support his back. He had been awake for 42 consecutive hours now, and while Vulcans could go for days without sleep, they needed meditation to fully function. And no mental suppression could rid the little flickers of worry that danced on the edges of his consciousness, despite all the logical arguments he threw at himself. Dr. McCoy would call him if something serious happened, wouldn't he?

"Sir," Sulu said quietly, moving to lean directly over the captain's chair. "I think now would be a good time to send a message to all of the crew. They're tired, grieving, and they've done a truly excellent job in the past two days."

"Indeed, Mr. Sulu, I shall." Spock once again had to admit that a human first officer was a very beneficial system. Sulu was very active among the crew, working in the botany labs, fiddling around in engineering, seeming to interact with everyone on the ship, so he was very open about their needs. Spock, admittedly, sometimes forgot how fragile and emotionally driven his mostly human crew was, and it was reminders like these that stopped him from being a maniacal slave driver.

Spock took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then switched on the video intercom system. "Attention crew, this is Captain Spock. I have just received our orders from the Admiralty; we are to head to docking station Analogous V to complete a full repair of our ship. We are officially taken off of the active duty roster, and we are free to take our shore leave. We arrive in approximately three hours."

He hesitated and went on, "The last 39.6 hours have been trying to us all, and I would like to thank you for your effort and dedication. Every one of you has done a commendable job in his or her duties and it is thanks to you, the crew, that we are alive at this moment. We shall be able to rest soon, but until that time, take heart and remember that you are the most capable crew in the whole of Starfleet. You honor the Federation, and you honor me. Spock out."

He cut the communication and was somewhat startled to see that everyone on the active bridge crew gave him a fleeting, happy smile. He raised an eyebrow at Sulu, who chuckled.

"They love you, sir. You've really opened up since we started this five-year mission, and by now everyone's seen that you're not just a cold Vulcan shell. We're proud to serve under you."

Spock blinked in bafflement and a touch of embarrassment. He wasn't sure what to say, and was saved when Sulu leaned in conspiratorially. "Sir, I've gotten some sleep since yesterday. I can take the conn. You go check on her, okay?"

Spock hesitated, but knew that there was nothing pressing for him to do at the moment. He nodded and stood. "Thank you. Lt. Chekov, inform me when we have reached our destination. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

Spock strode off to the turbolift and made his way to the Sickbay.

The Sickbay was in the unhurried bustling stage that it reached when a crisis was winding down. Spock paused to exchange words with some engineers who were leaving the 'bay with some sprains and minor burns. He made his way into the large room that smelled faintly of blood and burnt clothing, stopping to greet all of the injured crewmembers and give the tired nurses and doctors some words of praise and encouragement. Sulu said it was good for morale, but Spock secretly knew that he would do it anyway. He was half-human, after all.

Finally he made his way to the CMO's office, knocking and waiting for the gruff "C'mon in" to issue forth before he opened it. McCoy was sitting at his desk, an old-fashioned oak monstrosity that matched its owner's antiquated attitude, furiously scribbling out electronic paperwork on his desk computer.

"What do you want," he snapped, before he looked up and saw who it was. "Oh, Captain, it's you. She's not here, you know."

Spock frowned, meaning that his expression merely became somewhat graver. "Dr. McCoy, you should not make assumptions. Perhaps I merely came to 'check in' on your mental health."

McCoy barked out a laugh. "Ha! I'm not that much a fool, Mr. Spock. I'm pushing forty and stuck on a motherloving starship, but I'm not an idiot, and neither are you. You know I can handle all of this, and we both know you're worried about Nyota. She's fine. I sent her back to your rooms."

Spock gave him a somewhat pained look and stood. "Thank you, Doctor. I will proceed there immediately."

"Go on, lovebird. And Spock," McCoy stopped him at the door, "She really _is_ okay. It was just a sprained wrist and some minor burns from the sparks. Don't be so hard on yourself, and don't you _dare_ deny that you're blaming yourself in that little Vulcan brain of yours. Just…get some rest."

"You as well, Leonard," Spock ignored the mildly xenophobic comment and nodded to his closest friend. "Thank you for the efficiency of your Sickbay. You have saved many lives today."

"Not nearly enough," he sighed. "State of the art technology and we still lost nine men and women. Go on, Spock. Take care of your wife, and don't worry about me. I'll get some sleep as soon as the last patient's finished up."

Spock left the Sickbay and made his way to the Officers' Hall. Leonard would be fine after he'd gotten some rest and after the memorial services for the crew who'd been caught under some broiling hot, collapsed piping in Deck Six. It was a horrible tragedy and a hideous way to die, but he'd pull through. He always did.

Spock stopped outside of his door and straightened his creased uniform as best as he could and flattened his hair back down. He inhaled through his nose and opened the door.

The common room was deserted, the tasteful merge of Vulcan and African themes and decorations undisturbed. The bedroom door was open, though, and he could hear the quiet rustling of sheets from where he stood.

"Spock? Is that you, _ashal-veh_?"

Spock quietly made his way into the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. Nyota Uhura-Grayson sat up in bed, her brow wrinkled in a small frown.

"Spock," she said, her face relaxing somewhat. "I didn't expect you back until we got to the station."

Spock came and sat beside her, smoothing her hair with a hand. He lifted her right wrist, which was encased in a cast, and inspected it, looking over her for the faded marks from the electrical burns.

"You are well?" he asked, his voice subdued.

"I'm fine. It was just a little sprain," she said.

"And the little one?" He ran his palm over her still-flat stomach.

"She's fine, Spock. Really," she half-huffed and half-laughed, "I'm _fine_. I'm pregnant, not made of glass. Women have had babies since the roots of time."

"Most women are not pregnant with partially-Vulcan children," he reminded her, moving to lie down beside her on their double bed.

"Oh, Spock," she sighed, still smiling slightly as she trailed her fingers down his cheek. "You worry far too much. Everything will be alright. You are the smartest, strongest, most handsome captain in the fleet."

"Nine engineering crewmembers died," he said tiredly. "Two of them were ensigns. They were 20 and 23."

Nyota drew him over to her and put his head on her chest, stroking her fingers through his hair. "Shh… You're doing the best you can. Do you know the _Enterprise_ has the lowest mortality rate in the fleet?"

"That is not sufficient. I cannot even protect my wife and daughter."

She pulled him up and slapped him lightly across the cheek, more to get his attention than to hurt him. "Spock, you get out of this slump right now! For a 'logical Vulcan,' you can say the most illogical things sometimes. How did anyone know that that photon would hit us and short out the communications console? Do you really think you can become omniscient and stop every bad thing from happening?"

"No, I do not believe that possible," he admitted.

"Then stop dwelling on it. I'm fine, most of the crew is intact, and we weren't killed by Klingons. I'd call that a victory. Anything else that happens, we'll meet it as it comes. Now," she folded her legs primly, "You will meditate for at least an hour, and then you will take a shower and change your uniform so that you can take care of the docking procedures. Sound good?"

"It seems feasible."

"Perfect. And _I_ will finish my nap."

* * *

Spock waited until the swirls died down and he was sure that all of his cells were realigned, surreptitiously checking to make sure his clothes and accoutrements had also appeared. Transporter accidents, especially on damaged ships, were surprisingly common, and he had no intention of conducting business in the nude or with another man's nose.

"Mr. Scott, you will be ordering the necessary supplies for the repairs?" he asked, though he knew the answer already.

"Aye, sir," he nodded, checking the surrounding dock. "Looks like the parts stores are all over that way. I'll comm the ship when I've got what we need." The Scotsman and his two assistants walked off, giving their captain a respectful nod as they left.

"The Hall seems to be this way, sir," Mr. Smith, Spock's yeoman said.

"Very well." They set off in the direction of the main governing complex to negotiate any docking fees with the men in charge of Analogous V.

* * *

"That him?" the bald man asked, taking another puff of his cigarette.

"Yep," the smaller man affirmed, peering through his scanning monocle. "That's Captain Spock alright. It's working out just as we planned."

"How'd the boss know, anyway? I mean, this whole thing with the Klingons and stuff? It's kinda weird."

"You questioning the boss? You don't do that, man. The boss is a genius."

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" A low, husky voice asked, emerging from the back of the alleyway.

The two grunts straightened into attention, their eyes widening and their voices raising in pitch. "No, boss! No problem here!"

"Good. The Vulcan in the building?"

"Yes, boss," the short man answered, his voice returning to normal after his scare. "Just like you'd planned, though he's got another guy with him."

"It's to be expected," the boss shrugged, kneeling down in the alley to dig through his bag. "We can stun him if we have to. He's probably just a yeoman. A gopher," he explained to their confused looks, "kind of a secretary. We'll have to wait here for them to come out."

Two more men materialized from the shadows, and the crew sat back to wait for their prey.

* * *

"Yeoman, you may beam aboard now," Spock said as they left the Station Hall. "Please inform Mr. Sulu that I will return soon and that the crew may begin their shore leave if they so wish. Also remind them of the rules of this station. We do not want any rambunctious or troublesome incidents."

"Of course, sir. Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you?"

"No, Mr. Smith. I do not foresee any complications."

Mr. Smith nodded somewhat reluctantly and flipped open his communicator. Within seconds he had vanished.

Spock strode off in the direction of the dining district. Nyota had been feeling strange appetites lately and complaining that the replicated food was subpar. Within the last week she'd expressed an interest in fresh-baked bread, and, since Spock had no idea how to bake, he'd decided to surprise her with a fresh loaf of her favorite challah bread.

He was just setting out when he heard a small hiss of displaced air just before he felt a prick in his neck. Even as he whirled around, he felt whatever substance that was in the dart begin to course into his bloodstream. Several dark-clad men rushed up to him, but even in his half-drugged state he managed to throw them off, flinging them several feet with his superior strength. He was just about to seek refuge among the crowds and hopefully lose his would-be kidnappers when he again heard the hiss of air and felt another dart puncture his right side.

He sank to his knees, his vision blurring. He just saw a fifth man walk out of the shadows and towards him when the world tipped sideways and he found the side of his face pressed against the ground. Everything turned grey, and then it was black.

"Dammit, Jinx, did I not tell you that this guy would need twice the dose of tranq darts than a normal human?" the boss snarled.

"Sorry, boss," the shortest of them, Jinx, said, cringing.

"Let's just get him the fuck outta here before the fuckin' cops get here. This was so sloppy, you fuckwads, I'm surprised no one noticed how fucking awful this was."

"Yes, boss." The hefted the dense, unconscious body and dragged him back into alley.

"Fucking dipshits," they heard the boss mutter as the whirls of the transporter beam caught them up.

* * *

Nyota came onto the bridge, redressed in her uniform. She stomped right up to Hikaru Sulu, who was sitting in the captain's chair with a taut expression on his face.

"Where is he?" she demanded without prelude.

Sulu winced and wildly entertained the thought of running screaming off the bridge. Nyota Uhura was scary enough when angry; she was an absolute beast when protective and hormonally charged. "Um…who?"

"Don't play dumb, Hikaru," she yelled in perfect Japanese, "I want to know where my husband is!"

Uh-oh. Sulu knew that he was in deep shit when she started yelling at him in his first language. "Calm down. He beamed down to the station –"

"-Four _hours_ ago!"

"He hasn't checked in in that time. We've got a security team looking for him right now."

"And when was anyone going to tell me he's missing? I only know because I interrogated Smith."

"We didn't want to worry you. Maybe there's just a fault in our scanners –" he was interrupted by an incoming transmission.

"Commander Sulu, we found something," the voice of a security officer barked out of the chair's speakers.

"What is it, Parsons?"

"A security tape caught something interesting."

"Send it. Put it on the screen," he ordered the acting communications worker.

The screen filled with a somewhat grainy image. In the top left corner they saw Spock begin to walk into the camera's view when he flinched to the side and turned. They couldn't clearly see what happened next, but a man in black clothes went flying into the camera's field of vision. The next second, Spock came sprinting into sight, his gait somewhat sluggish and unsteady, when he flinched again and fell to his knees. They watched in horror as he sank to the ground and the dark-garbed men snatched him up, dragging him away.

Nyota had paled halfway through, and after the tape was over, she let out a strangled gasp and staggered into the captain's chair. Sulu jumped up and sat her forcefully in the seat as she started hyperventilating, yelling into the intercom system, "Medical crew to bridge!"

A crew, led by Nurse Chapel who was on duty at the time, rushed in and managed to calm her breathing. The immediate crisis averted, Sulu turned to look at the last grainy image of his commanding officer being snatched up by unknown assailants. A wave of gooseflesh traveled over him and he shivered. It looked like he was acting captain now.

"Commander Roberts," he said to the communications officer, who seemed to be in a state of shock, "Call the Admiralty."

* * *

It was cold.

That was the first thing Spock noticed when he finally regained his senses. The second thing he noticed was that a strip of adhesive covered his mouth and chin and there was a cloth bag over his head. He couldn't feel his communicator or his personal PADD in his pocket, but otherwise he seemed unmolested.

The world shook a little under him, and he concluded he was on a rudimentary spacecraft, perhaps in the cargo bay.

He tried to stand from his chair, and only then noticed the restraints on his mostly numb hands and his ankles. He gave them a sharp jerk, but they refused to give. Handcuffs, he surmised.

There was a 'whoosh' sound, and a draft.

"Ah, sleeping beauty awakes," a soft voice called into the silence.

Spock remained motionless. It seemed the wisest thing to do.

"Don't bother trying to break free. Those cuffs are made from a special titanium alloy. Virtually indestructible, they could hold a raging Klingon for weeks. But here, let me get that for you."

The hood was jerked off of his head, and Spock felt his inner eyelid close as a meager shield from the sudden, though dim, light.

The man in front of him was human. He looked to be just slightly younger than Spock himself, which would place him in his early thirties. He had a ruffled mop of dirty-blonde hair, a scruffy goatee, and piercing blue eyes. This man was dangerous, whoever he was.

The man kissed his index finger and tapped it over Spock's covered lips. "Ah, duct tape. A classic, really. Some things just never go out of style, you know? But oh, I'm being rude. My name's Jim. You can call me Jim, if you want." He turned his head to regard his captive. "Ah, yes, I, of course, know who you are. You're Captain Spock, the Federation's little darling. I know a lot about you, actually. See, you've become sort of necessary to my little plans."

Jim moved to sit down on a stack of boxes. "Well, now that you're awake, we can continue with our plan. Your friends have already noticed you're gone, so we can record a little movie and send it to them, eh? See, my demands are simple: I want one of their pretty starships, which are _really_ hard to steal, y'know? And I want weapons, lots of weapons. Why?" He glared suspiciously at Spock. "I'm not going to tell you why. You might ruin everything."

Spock concluded that the man was certifiably insane, though it was too early to make an accurate diagnosis. He had many questions to ask, but the tape prevented him from doing so. He watched helplessly as Jim and some of his crew came and set up a video camera. There was a tall Slavic man with a bulky build, shaven head, and a thick accent that seemed to be called 'Dom.' The jittery young man who handled all of the electrical equipment was referred to as 'Jinx.' The third man, 'Ed,' gave Spock a uneasy feeling. His emotions were twisted somehow, and he stared at Spock just a little too long for his comfort.

"That's good, Jinx. Go help Kimya in the cockpit."

Jim turned the camera on and stepped out in front of it, next to Spock.

"Hello, Federation," he said conversationally, "This is Jim Kirk, calling from my ship. In case you didn't notice, I kidnapped your captain. Now, I haven't hurt him yet, as you can plainly see, but I'm afraid that situation could change if you don't comply with my demands. Within the next 72 hours, I expect to be supplied with a starship, a supply of dilithium crystals, and your latest weapons technology. We'll talk more later, I'm sure, but if we don't," he shrugged and put a hand on Spock's shoulder. Spock didn't react, didn't move his eyes from their fixed position, staring at the far wall. "Well, I'll have to chop little Spocky here into tiny bits and mail them back to Vulcan one by one. I don't think daddy dearest would like that, would he? I'll be in touch soon." He smiled, and Dom shut off the camera.

"Send that to Starfleet, would you?" Jim reached into a bag and pulled out a hypo. "Enough tranquilizers in here to knock out a horse. Sorry, Spock, but we can't have you awake for the next bit."

He jabbed the hypo into Spock's neck with a sympathetic wince and dragged the bag over his head. In the darkness, Spock wasn't sure when he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Alright, everyone, quiet down!" Admiral Archer yelled over the din in the Starfleet Command Conference Hall.

The loud conversations eventually receded to a low, buzzing hum of furious whispers that slowly ebbed under Archer's stern gaze.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem," he began.

"I'll say," Admiral Komack snorted.

Archer leveled his stare at him then dismissed his out of turn comment. "Captain Spock has been taken by a terrorist cell. Their supposed leader, one Jim Kirk, is proposing ransom."

"Preposterous!" one old Admiral huffed. "The Federation doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

"Be that as it may, this is a severely public issue. Captain Spock is more than just one of the most capable captains of Starfleet; he represents a new generation of equality and brotherhood throughout the galaxy. Just this year the second human-Vulcan marriage in history has taken place, and another couple, human-Andorian, is applying for legal marriage. If we allow Captain Spock to be needlessly sacrificed, the public will be in an uproar. We can't allow that to happen."

The doors to the room burst open, and Ambassador Sarek himself strode in, his keen eyes flashing. A harried-looking cadet trailed behind him, his mouth open and face panicked as if he'd been trying to stop the livid Vulcan from interrupting the private meeting of Starfleet Command.

"Admirals," he said shortly, his tone clipped and his nearly expressionless face somehow conveying the depth of fury bubbling beneath his calm façade. "I have recently been informed of my son's capture by a hostile terrorist, and have also been informed that there is a matter of ransom…?"

"Ah," Archer stammered somewhat. "We should begin this meeting, then, with a viewing of the video we received an hour and a half ago."

Sarek was shown to a seat at the table and the vid screen flared to life. They all watched in silence as the dimly lit video played out. Captain Spock did not move or blink throughout, and Jim's jovial attitude was at severe odds with the atmosphere at the Admirals' table.

"_We'll talk more later, I'm sure, but if we don't, well, I'll have to chop little Spocky here into tiny bits and mail them back to Vulcan one by one. I don't think daddy dearest would like that, would he? I'll be in touch soon." _ With one last inane smile, the screen blackened.

In the sudden dearth of noise, the strange _growling_ coming from the Vulcan Ambassador was disturbingly audible.

"Well," Archer coughed, "What do we know about this Jim Kirk?"

"James Tiberius Kirk," Pike sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes to his PADD, "Is the son of legendary war hero George Kirk, who diverted a massive Klingon attack during the border skirmishes of 2233, saving over 800 of his crew, including his wife and newborn son."

"And including you," someone muttered.

Pike flushed a little, his frown deepening. "Yes, I was there, too. Anyway, Winona and James Kirk returned to their home in Iowa, along with George Samuel Kirk Jr., who was born in 2229. Winona Kirk married Frank Brown in 2242 and returned to active duty in Starfleet. In 2245, Samuel Kirk ran away from home, current location unknown. The same day, James stole his father's antique 1965 Corvette and drove it off into a quarry, barely escaping with his life. James was sent to live with his maternal uncle and aunt by marriage on Tarsus IV and attend a rehabilitative school there for troubled youths. He was a survivor of the 2246 massacre perpetrated by General Kodos. His aunt and uncle were not so fortunate.

"He returned to Earth and refused therapy. Winona returned to Earth, but returned to work on the _Farragut _within six months. James Kirk became something of a delinquent, but was never formally charged with anything until 2250, when he beat his stepfather to death with a table lamp."

Someone broke out into a coughing fit, and the tension in the room spiked. Pike cleared his throat and continued.

"During the trial, it was revealed that Mr. Brown had been verbally and physically abusive whenever Winona was off-planet. In light of these circumstances and his tenure on Tarsus IV, James Kirk's sentence was reduced to 15 years. He received parole in 2261 on good behavior, and complied with all parole restrictions. Four years ago, in 2262, Winona Kirk was found dead in her house. Presumably she hanged herself, but that same week, James Kirk disappeared. He resurfaced two years ago as the head of the terrorist sect, the AFL, the Anti-Federation League. He is suspected of multiple counts of arson, robbery, kidnapping, and murder, and is believed to be insane. His file in the Intergalactic Police Force marks him as top priority, extremely dangerous."

Pike straightened up, raising his gaze from his PADD. The admirals all fidgeted in uncertainty.

"This is the man who has taken my son." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, Ambassador, but we will get him back," Archer assured him.

"How?" Sarek crossed his arms, his eyes hard.

"Well, sir," Admiral Barrett spoke up, "We have tracked his transmission to an old transport vessel and we have the crew of the USS _Lexington_ en route to intercept it."

"May I respectfully add," Pike spoke up, "That I forgot to mention that Kirk is a genius? He scored a 168 on an IQ test in the third grade, and his scores since then have been consistent. The ship is undoubtedly a decoy, meant to throw us off the scent."

"What would you have us do, Chris?" Barrett snapped, "This is the only lead we have."

"I'm afraid that our only option will be to wait for Mr. Kirk to contact us again." Archer ran his hands through his greying hair in defeat.

"But he _will_ demand those weapons," Komack protested, "Surely you don't consider giving them to him. With that kind of firepower, he could potentially destroy this Federation."

"Isn't that his goal?" Pike quipped.

Sarek stood, his chair making a gratifyingly loud scraping noise on the tile. "Gentlemen, as this meeting seems to be making little progress, I will go to contact the Vulcan High Council. I hope to persuade them to offer their assistance and resources to the effort to reclaim my son and eliminate this threat to the Federation. Good day."

He stomped out, every line of his body taut with suppressed rage and fury, and the slam of the door behind him released a small cloud of plaster from the ceiling. The admirals exchanged apprehensive glances, sure that they'd just seen the closest they'd ever see to a living example of the Pre-Surak barbarians of Vulcan.

* * *

Spock came into consciousness again, unwilling to do so and face whatever new situation he'd find himself in. To his surprise he saw…carpet.

He looked around and ascertained that he was lying on his side on the floor of a hotel room. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, but his feet were freed. There was a fresh strip of duct tape across his mouth. He craned his neck to look upwards and across the room.

Jim Kirk was stretched out on one of the two beds on top of the covers, seemingly asleep. Dom and a large black man were playing a card game at the little table near where Spock had been placed. Ed was sitting on the other bed, watching the telescreen on silent with subtitles.

Spock shifted a little and froze when his vertebrae popped from the movement. All three men turned to look at him, their faces blank for a moment. The black man shrugged and turned back to his cards, Dom following suit. Ed stared for another second then glanced at Jim, who seemed to still be asleep. He got up from the bed quietly and crept over to the two men at the card table.

"Do you think we should let him go to the bathroom?" he asked, staring at Spock, "I mean, we've had him for, like, 20 hours now. He's probably got to go."

"Ugh," Dom sighed in disgust, "Just take him, would you, Ed? Don't ask me."

"Okay, fine, I was just wondering." He knelt down and grabbed the Vulcan's upper arm. "Hey, stand up."

Spock narrowed his eyes at him over his duct taped mouth.

Ed frowned. "Hey, don't glare at me like that. You either stand up and come to the bathroom with me, or you can piss your pants like a baby. Your choice."

Spock let out a small sigh through his nose and struggled to his knees. Ed hefted him up and Spock shakily stood. They staggered to the bathroom, Spock's legs still numb from disuse. Ed kicked the door shut behind them and hustled him over to the toilet. Spock jerked back when he started fumbling with the button on his Starfleet uniform pants.

"Oh, come _on_. It's not like I can let you use your hands. You'd knock me the fuck out and escape. Besides, only the boss can unlock those. Relax."

Seeing no other option, Spock allowed him to pull his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs. He made a small noise of protest when the weasely human grabbed his penis, but Ed ignored him.

"Go on, piss."

Utilizing all of his Vulcan control, Spock suppressed the shamed flush that wanted to spread over his face and ears and relieved himself. Ed flushed the toilet, but didn't immediately pull Spock's clothes back on. Instead he ran his thumb along the flaccid length in his hand, his face thoughtful. Spock barely suppressed a shudder of revulsion, certain that the human would misinterpret the reaction. Ed pulled himself back to the present and redressed him, and Spock gratefully exited the bathroom to sit down on the carpet again, his back against the wall.

He had to get out of here.

He tested the strength of the handcuffs again, but, as before, they didn't give. He catalogued the exits, figured out every possible means of entry or exit, tried to ascertain his location beyond the room, and in the end, was forced to merely watch the humans as they went about their efforts to keep their simple minds entertained. He sat there for 18.4 minutes before Jim stirred and sat up, yawning. He scratched a hand through his hair and froze when he saw Spock watching him.

"Oh, how long's he been awake?" Jim asked the room at large.

"Twenty minutes," Dom supplied, not looking up from his cards.

"Fantastic. Nothing interesting happen? No escape attempts?"

"Nothing. Ed took him to the bathroom, but other than that, he's just been sitting there, staring at us."

"Really, Ed? How thoughtful." Jim walked over and crouched in front of Spock. "Again, I have to say sorry for all of this. You got the short end of the stick, having a daddy like that and a reputation like you do, but I know how to cheer you up." He grinned into Spock's stony face, unperturbed by the lack of expression there. "Let's make a movie."

* * *

Admiral Archer pounded his fist on the table, sending ripples through the water glasses of the assembled Admiralty, an inarticulate cry splitting the room.

"So the _Lexington_ found nothing?" He snarled.

"No, sir," Admiral Barrett reported, "The ship was deserted. All they found was a paper note that had a crude smiley face and the word "Suckers" scrawled on it. There's no indication of where they went to or where they're headed."

"Dammit. Ambassador," Archer turned to address the Vulcan seated across the table. "Has the Vulcan High Council said anything?"

"They express their condolences, but they can do nothing beyond providing the aid of some of our fastest craft in the search. There are long-range telepaths also aboard, but no one has caught any of my son's thoughts or emotions."

"Damn," he muttered again, standing to pace the length of the room.

"Sir!" The doors burst open and a cadet came in in a barely restrained sprint. "Admirals, this just came from the long-range sensor lab. Commander Jenkins said it was top priority!"

"Thank you, Ensign, that will be all." Archer took the vid chip and fed it into the holo-projector. They all sat with bated breath as the screen flared to life.

The scene was brighter this time. Captain Spock was seated in a chair once more, this time unsecured save for the handcuffs binding his arms behind him. His lips were still taped and he stared ahead with a careful lack of expression, his gaze at a point above the camera lens. He seemed unharmed, though a bit disheveled, and the hotel room behind him looked less cold and uncomfortable than his previous setting.

Jim Kirk strolled onto the scene, jaunty and nonchalant.

"He-llo, Starfleet! Jim Kirk again. As you can see, Captain Spock is still in one piece, for now, and I'm still not in your custody. Must be frustrating, after 22 hours. Now, yes, I'm staying at this location and you've no doubt got your crack teams tracking the signal back to my location, but I warn you, it's not going to be that easy. I'll let you find me, but not before I want you to. Now, about those demands…"

He paced in a slow circle around Spock, his hands wandering over the immobile Vulcan's chest, neck, and shoulders.

"Mr. Spock here is one fine-looking gentleman, is he not? Strong, intelligent, handsome, physically fit… It's mind-boggling, really, all the things one could do with a body like this, if you had it in your power." He stroked Spock's left cheek with the backs of his fingers. Spock shifted his gaze to Kirk, his expression morphing from a careful blank to scarcely concealed revulsion and dread. "But, you know, I might be able to restrain myself if you get that stuff I wanted over here ASAP. One Constitution-class starship, 15 dilithium crystals, three vials of smallpox II (and yes, I know you have those), blueprints of the latest photon cannon technology, and some uranium, for kicks."

Kirk had dropped his jovial manner, and his electric blue eyes seemed to bore into the camera. "If your ships are not in this planet's atmosphere in 24 hours, I can't guarantee what condition Captain Spock will be in when you next see him. If you want your little poster boy back unharmed and with his virtue intact, you will comply with my demands. Jim Kirk out."

The screen went black. No one spoke. A few dared glances at Sarek, but the Vulcan was completely closed off, his rage either too strong to express or the shock simply too much to handle.

"I hate to be the voice of reason here," Everyone turned as one to look at Admiral Komack. "But it has to be said: we cannot let Kirk have those weapons."

"Did you not hear what he said?" Pike asked caustically. "The lunatic is threatening to _rape_ Spock, for God's sake!"

Everyone winced at the sound of Sarek's water glass shattering in his grip.

"I'm not saying," Komack amended hastily, "That we shouldn't send our ships there; I'm just saying that we need to make sure he doesn't get his demands and that we capture him and lock his ass up for the rest of his life."

"Komack is right; we can't let him have his demands." Archer ran his hands down his face with a sigh. "I worry over what his plans could be, especially with the smallpox II cultures. With that much of the disease, he could wipe out San Francisco."

"Wouldn't that be his goal?" Barrett asked. "He _is_ the head of the Anti-Federation League, and what better place to drop a biological weapon than the heart of Starfleet?"

"This situation is rapidly degenerating." Archer sent a quieting look around the room and paged the long-range sensor lab. "Commander Jenkins, have you tracked the signal yet?"

"No, sir. We've isolated it as coming from a planet in the Theta quadrant, but there was some kind of virus attached; we can't get a lock on it. We can see what half of the planet it came from, but not the exact location."

"That's good enough, for now. Keep working at it, commander." He terminated the connection. "What ships do we have close enough to reach the planet by the timeline?"

They pulled up a holo of the quadrant and they all studied it.

"The _Lexington_ can make it there in 3 hours going Warp 5." Barrett said. "The _Enterprise_ is also nearby, and with their current engine situation, they could make it there in 18 hours."

"The _Enterprise_ has been taken off of the active duty roster, Admiral," Archer reminded him. "They were specifically ordered to conduct repairs."

"Spock's wife is onboard," Pike said bluntly. "She's three months pregnant and, when I last talked to her, scared out of her wits. His doctors are there as well, McCoy and M'Benga who are most familiar with his unique physiology."

"You have a point, Chris. Comm them and order them to proceed ASAP to the Theta quadrant. Ambassador," he addressed the Vulcan, "Can you contact the Vulcan ships and order them to organize there?"

"I will be certain of it." Sarek stood, his expression flat. "Excuse me."

They let him go without protest, certain that his non-emotion was just the calm before some private storm.

"I'm going, too," Pike said, standing. "Spock is my direct subordinate, and I can get there in eight hours if I go warp 8."

"Warp 8 will be hell on your engines, Pike," Archer warned. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, sir. Spock is my responsibility; I was his captain before I was ever his admiral. I don't know what good I'll do, but I need to go. Do I have your permission, sir?"

The older man sighed. "Of course, Chris. Just stay on the comm with us so we can formulate some kind of plan."

"Yes, sir." Pike snapped a salute and marched out to commandeer a spacecraft.

* * *

"You. Yeah, you. Sit down."

Nyota turned, her hands clasped over her abdomen, to stare at the approaching man with huge, haunted eyes.

"Leonard?"

"I wasn't joking." He took her elbow and led her over to one of the couches in the observation room. "When is the last time you ate?"

"I don't know." She kept her eyes downcast to where she was rolling the hem of Spock's gold command shirt between her fingers. She'd opted to wear his shirt over regulation pants and undershirt, and no one had felt the need to call her on her dress code transgression.

"That's not good." McCoy frowned and wished he had his medkit on him. "I know you're worried, but you can't neglect yourself. It's not good for the baby."

She made a noncommittal noise and stared out the viewing window into the vast reaches of space before them. "This is his favorite place to think. Did you know that? He'd stand right there, by the old ship wheel, and stare out at the stars. Sometimes he'd run his hands over the engraving. 'Boldly go where no one has gone before.'"

McCoy sighed. "I know. We're gonna get him back. We're headed to Theta VII right now."

"I saw the video."

McCoy winced. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

"They're trying to scare him. And he is scared. He tries not to show it, but he is." Nyota sniffled, forcefully brushing the tears out of her eyes. "We need to get him back, Leonard."

"And we will. Have you talked to Amanda?"

"No, not yet."

"You should. Go eat something, a good meal, and take your prenatal vitamins. Then call her. I'm sure you both could use the company." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "Be brave, Nyota. We'll save him."

"I know."

She left to the mess hall and sat alone, mechanically eating a large helping of vegetable-rich chow mein noodles and spiced beef. Then, still uncontested by any of the crew, who tiptoed around her awkwardly, she made her way to her and Spock's quarters.

It took a matter of seconds for the skilled communication officer to patch a link through to the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco. Before long she'd been linked to the ambassador's dwelling.

Lady Amanda's upper body filled the video screen. She was as immaculately groomed as ever, but there were dark shadows under her eyes, and the fine wrinkles on the corners of her eyes and framing her mouth had deepened into a grave, pinched expression.

"Nyota," she greeted solemnly. "Are you and the baby doing alright?"

Nyota nodded. "The baby's fine. I'm just… worried. How are you and Sarek holding up?"

Amanda's mouth quirked in a somewhat self-deprecating smile. "We're doing as best as can be expected, I suppose. Sarek is more emotionally compromised than he cares to admit. I've had a whole bunch of the admirals calling and tattling on him. Apparently he's been breaking things and scaring the poor little humans with that passionate Vulcan anger of his."

Nyota shivered slightly, involuntarily. Sarek was scary enough when he was even disapproving, such as the first time Spock had brought her home with him for dinner. She couldn't imagine how terrifying he'd be when enraged, enough so to actually demonstrate it before an audience. "Will he be okay?"

"Of course, darling. He and Spock may have had their falling outs before, but he does truly love our son, so of course he's protective, especially with what that lunatic was –" she cut herself off, her eyes widening.

"You don't have to hide it; I've seen the tape."

"Oh, baby." Amanda drew in a shaky breath. "I'd hoped Leonard would have stopped it before it reached you."

Nyota frowned. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm a perfectly capable adult woman. I don't need to be protected like some delicate flower."

"I know that, honey. We just don't want you to get upset. More upset than you already are, that is," she amended. "People also get very silly and irrational around pregnant women. It brings out everyone's protective instincts on overdrive. Heck, Sarek barely let me leave the house when I was pregnant with Spock."

Nyota smiled a little bit at that and hugged herself, trying to gain any comfort she could from the baggy shirt around her that smelled like her husband. "I miss him," she blurted. "I'm…_so_ scared. What if we don't make it in time? What if that bastard kills him just for fun? What if he never gets to see our baby?"

"Stop it, right now." Amanda said sternly, her own eyes moist. "You can't allow yourself to think like that. If he does, God forbid, kill my son, we will blast him and his whole crew to pieces. He's supposed to be a genius; I'm sure he knows the consequences. My husband and the Admiralty are all working to trick and capture this Jim Kirk and rescue our Spock. Everything will be alright in the end."

The younger woman nodded shakily. Damn the hormones, she thought irritably. I'm usually the last one to cry in a situation like this. "I know. I still worry. And I feel so _useless_. There is literally nothing I can do as Chief Communications Officer. If I was in Engineering, I could at least be fixing the ship. Or if I was a nurse, I could be helping the Sickbay with the injured officers from the Klingon attack. But no, all I can do is talk."

"And maybe that will become important," Amanda scolded. "We may have to negotiate with this terrorist, and it's well-known that you're a master at all forms of communication. You might be crucial to this mission. Don't sell yourself short."

"They want me to talk to the psycho who kidnapped my husband?" she asked in disbelief.

Amanda shrugged. "It may not come to that. Now, you look exhausted. Have you eaten recently?"

"Yes, _ko-mekh_, of course I have. Leonard would never let me starve myself."

"Good. Now, get some rest. You'll need it, in the day to come."

"Of course. Give my regards to Sarek?"

"I will. I love you," Amanda said, reveling in the chance to say those words openly. Her husband and son were always embarrassed by her show of emotion.

"I love you, too, Amanda. Until we next meet," Nyota gave the more formal farewell.

"Goodbye, dear."

She terminated the connection and tugged off her boots. Without removing her clothes, she fell into bed and hugged Spock's pillow, breathing deeply and evenly until she fell asleep.

* * *

"…If your ships are not in this planet's atmosphere in 24 hours, I can't guarantee what condition Captain Spock will be in when you next see him. If you want your little poster boy back unharmed and with his virtue intact, you will comply with my demands. Jim Kirk out."

Dom switched off the camera and Jim let out a sigh, his intense face melting into something more human and vulnerable.

"Ship that off to Starfleet, would you?" Dom took the camera over to a laptop computer. Jim waved the black man over. "Kimya, over here. Would you?"

Kimya grabbed Spock's chair and scooted it around to face the couch with Spock still seated in it.

"Thank you." He nodded dismissively and Kimya went to join Dom at the table. Ed sighed and went to continue watching the silent telescreen.

"Your performance, Spock, was wonderful." He lowered himself onto the couch. "_Très magnifique._ The little emotion you threw in there was just what I needed to get them stirring."

Spock couldn't help it; he raised an eyebrow.

Jim laughed. "Very good! The first real facial expression I've seen from you. Yes, you've called my bluff; I have no intention of molesting you, no matter how delicious you are. I just had to think of something that would outrage the Admirals and elicit and emotional response from you. Since we've proven that you're pretty helpless, I theorized that violation would be a logical concern for you. It worked, didn't it?"

Spock found himself wishing his mouth wasn't taped. It seemed that Jim had no clue about his subordinate, Ed's, mental deficiency and his strange fascination with Spock. His earlier conduct in the bathroom, now _that_ was the reason Spock had been so frightened of Jim's implications.

"So, we have another 24 hours to kill," Jim yawned. "You should probably meditate or something. Whatever it is you Vulcans do, eh? I must go plot more evil schemes. Hey," He turned to his subordinates. "I'm gonna go make some calls, coordinate some things with the rest of the League. Watch the Vulcan and do not drop your guard. You can't be too careful around their type."

"Yes, boss," Ed and Dom intoned dutifully. Kimya just nodded. Spock theorized that the African was mute, for he'd not heard a sound from him in all the time he'd watched the humans.

Jim left, and Spock settled down to wait. Let it not be said that those following Surak's teachings are impatient. He slipped into a very light trance, keeping his ears pricked for the sound of human movement, occasionally shifting in his seat as much to accustom their subconscious and peripheral vision with the sight of his movement as to retain blood flow in his legs.

The humans remained on their guard for the first hour or so, but eventually settled, as humans are wont to do, into more comfortable positions and set about entertaining themselves. Ed continued watching his vids, now with the volume turned on just high enough for him to hear. Kimya had pulled out a PADD and was typing away. Dom set out a game of solitaire.

After waiting two hours thirty-eight minutes and twenty-three seconds, Spock made his move.

It had to be flawless, and he had to be quick. The doorknob was an old-fashioned lever door handle, and the bolt was well-oiled, easy to turn. Kimya sat closest to Spock and would be his biggest obstacle en route to the door. He hoped that the element of surprise would be enough to give him time to rush the two steps to the door, turn to turn the bolt and handle with his cuffed hands, and sprint down whatever hall was outside.

Ed was in a light doze, staring dully at some old 22nd-century action film. Dom was yawning over his cards, his eyelids drooping. Only Kimya remained somewhat alert, though his attention was focused on the PADD.

Steeling himself and slowly tensing his muscles, Spock sprang.

The gravitational pull on Vulcan had three times the force of Earth gravity. Their current location had a stronger pull than Earth, but significantly less than Vulcan. The humans were sleepy, hindered by gravity, and had not studied the martial arts of two planets and multiple cultures.

Like a well-oiled machine, Spock launched himself forward from his chair and leapt the two steps to the door. He'd turned and was unlocking and opening the door from behind by the time Kimya had dropped his PADD and stood and before Dom had thought to reach for his phaser. The door opened inward and Spock spun around it, breaking into a run almost before his eyes registered the well-lit hall of a three-star hotel. He ran for the stairwell, weaving to avoid the bursts of phaser fire that now rained upon him. He heard footsteps and quickened breathing from behind him, but didn't hesitate. He nudged the door open with his hip and began flying down the stairs, four steps at a time. His balance was off due to his bound hands, and several times he caught himself nearly tumbling to the bottom, but somehow made it almost to the bottom. He stretched his jaw, the duct tape coming loose and flapping off of one side of his mouth.

The door to the first floor opened and Spock's blood froze in his veins. Jim Kirk was there, holding a duffle bag, and he looked up with startled ice blue eyes that quickly absorbed the situation and began calculating plans and outcomes.

Spock dared not hesitate. He launched himself down the last flight of stairs, using his momentum to throw a flying kick that should have cracked the human's collarbone and incapacitated him. Instead, Kirk dropped down and kicked the door shut, Spock's foot splitting the air above his ducking head. He launched himself at the Vulcan from the ground, but Spock sidestepped to avoid him and drove his knee down at his spine. Kirk twisted just in time, and Spock hissed as he failed to stop his momentum and sent his knee cracking into the concrete floor.

Kirk used this opportunity to punch him in the jaw, sending him sprawling and prompting a colorful string for curses from the human as his fist met the dense bone. Dom and Kimya thundered down the last flight of stairs and grabbed at the Vulcan's arms to hoist him upright.

"AUGH!"

Dom screamed as Spock twisted to sink his sharp teeth into the hitman's wrist, biting with enough force to bruise and puncture the skin. Using the slack in his grip, Spock drove his shoulder into Kimya, knocking him off balance. Contorting himself, he twisted out of their hands and staggered towards the door. He was instead greeted by Jim's boot driving itself into his abdomen, sending him to the floor, landing on his injured knee with a gasp.

"Get him upstairs _now_," Jim snarled.

Spock lifted his head to bare his teeth at him and Jim took an involuntary step back. With his brows lowered and red blood streaked over his teeth, the Vulcan looked feral, reckless, dangerous.

Dom and Kimya began dragging him up the stairs, cursing and kicking at him in an attempt to make him carry his own weight. Ed stood on awkwardly, his phaser pointed at the captive. Spock growled at him, and Dom cuffed him with a free hand. Spock waited until they were halfway up the stairs before he got his feet under him and pushed off, sending him and the humans tumbling down the flight to the turn of the stairs. He pushed himself up and made to run down them, but Jim's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle.

Spock felt as if he was suspended for a moment, motionless in the air before gravity regained its hold on him and he fell down. His torso connected with the staircase with a sickening crack of bone and he tumbled down, down, down. Halfway down there was a blinding pain behind his right ear, and when he finally slowed to a halt he was motionless. He watched the blurry sparks dance before his vision and heard the scuffling and exclamations of his approaching captors before his world faded to black.

* * *

_Everything hurt._

Spock's consciousness crawled its way to the surface, steeling itself against the rippling waves of agony that ghosted over his skin. His eyes slowly fluttered open and he absorbed his surroundings warily and silently.

He was in the bathroom again, sitting on the floor, propped up in the corner formed by the wall and the tub. His hands were still cuffed, and now duct tape had been wrapped around his ankles, a fresh piece across his lips. He realized with a start that the cold he felt was due to the fact that his clothes were lying on the ground near him. A quick mental scan of his body alleviated the spike of anxiety this revelation caused, and he steadied his breathing to survey his surroundings once more.

On the counter he saw an open and used medkit, some empty hypo vials, and a pair of medical scissors. The ground and countertop was littered with bloodied gauze, a near-equal amount of both red and green stains on them. Other than that, he was alone, the door shut and the lights at 75%.

Spock took stock of himself. His only clothing was his black boxer briefs and the chain around his neck that sported his wedding ring. Otherwise, his chest was bound tightly with bandages and he saw many faded bruises and scrapes littering his whole body. Any deep breath hurt, stabbing pains coming from his ribs, and the bone and tissue behind his right ear was a knot of aches and pulsing pain that kept time with his heartbeat. His knee was definitely sprained, the blood coursing through it somehow feeling hotter than the rest of his body.

His internal clock was badly malfunctioning, and he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. As he was alone and injured, with no hope of running away again, he resolved to wait.

He was blissfully alone for 5.4 minutes before the door opened and Ed poked his head in.

The weasel-faced man jumped when he noticed that Spock was looking at him. He pulled his head back and glanced back into the main room, then slunk in and shut the door, locking it behind him. Kneeling down in front of Spock, he cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing him.

"The boss is out getting some food and medicine," he said quietly. "Dom and Kimya are getting some sleep, and Jinx is up on the roof. Boss said you're too hurt to try to run again, so they left me in charge."

He reached out and poked Spock's bicep, frowning in thought. "You're very strong. I saw you throw the big guys around on the stairs, and you threw me when we nabbed you. It must be cool to be strong like that. Like being a superhero." He reached out and touched Spock's face above the bruise left by Kirk's fist.

Spock mentally recoiled from the foreign thoughts and emotions seeping in through his skin. Something was very wrong. Something inside of this 'Ed' was broken, twisted out of shape.

Ed leaned his face in towards him. "I wish I was strong." He leaned in to kiss his cheekbone.

Spock recoiled, narrowly missing colliding with the human's jaw. Ed frowned and grabbed Spock's upper arm right over a large, orangish-green bruise and squeezed, pulling him forward and out of the corner. Spock couldn't get any leverage to resist with his hands bound and his leg incapacitated and pains shooting through him from his injuries. Ed used some effort and forced him to a prone position on his back, the handcuffs digging into his wrists and back.

Warm hands were running over Spock's chest, pulling down his underwear, mouth spilling out a long string of mumblings. Spock had never felt so helpless, so afraid. His weak attempts to throw off his assailant were futile. For once in his life, there was _nothing he could do_.

More pressing was the barrage upon his mind. Spock screwed his eyes shut and willed his shields to hold against the loudly-projected thoughts leaking through the physical contact. His shields were buckling from the stress, and his mind was assaulted with images, thoughts, snippets of another life.

_Mom never paid attention to me. She always liked Rick more. He was the good son, the athlete, the leader. Everyone liked Rich more than scrawny, weird little Ed._

Spock twisted, trying squirm away from the offending human straddling his thighs. Ed's face twisted with rage and he slapped him hard across the cheek.

'_But I thought you said that I would get the job. You said that I was the right man for it. I thought you liked me.'_

'_It's not about like, Edgar. You're just not assertive enough. You're too meek for this sales position.'_

"I'm not meek. I'm strong; strong enough to hurt you, you alien freak," he hissed.

'_Baby, don't leave –'_

'_Don't 'baby' me, you fucking pansy. Act like a man for once. God, would it kill ya to wear the pants in a relationship?'_

'_Cheryl, don't go! I'll change - I promise!'_

'_You can't change. You're just a powerless, emasculated freak. Call me when you grow a pair.'_

"I'm not weak," Ed repeated to himself firmly. "I'm strong. I'm in control."

He started unbuckling his belt, his hands fumbling and shaking in his haste and impatience. Spock was completely immobilized with his hands bound and numb from the constant constraint, the weight of the man resting on his knees - his injured knee burning and aching from the strain – his whole body hurting and unable to make a sound, unsure if the other men would help him or join in on his torture or worse, turn away in disgust and simply allow it to happen.

And, though he knew that Ed had no desire to kill him and that the violation was just another physical pain to endure, Spock was afraid.

He'd closed his eyes, his face flushing with shame and distress as he refocused his mental efforts to minimalizing the battery of emotions, and was trying to ignore the warmer-than-Vulcan hands groping around his groin when he heard a door open and heavy, echoing footsteps outside of the room.

"Ed? Hey, Ed, where are you?"

Ed's head snapped up as the bathroom door opened. Spock craned his head backwards to see Jim standing in the doorway.

Jim's face turned from confusion to a frighteningly blank stare as his eyes absorbed the sight of his prisoner, his injured prisoner, on the floor with his underwear around his ankles, his half-unclothed captor kneeling above him. Ed's face was locked in an expression of mortified horror, and his jaw worked up and down silently as he tried to garble together some explanation. Jim never gave him a chance.

His blank face transformed into an expression of pure fury and with an animalistic bellow of rage he swung his booted foot into Ed's face with a crunch of cracking bone. Ignoring his phaser, he yanked a switchblade from his boot and flipped it open. With primal ferocity, he opened it and drove the blade into his cringing subordinate over and over and over again until he'd ceased to move.

In some foggy portion of his brain, Spock wondered who the man thought he was attacking.

Jim ripped his knife out and stood with jerky movements. "Dom, Kimya, get your asses over here."

The two men had already been standing outside, open expressions of shock on their newly-woken faces.

He gestured with his bloody knife at the scene in the bathroom. "You see this? Anyone fucking tries to touch him again or so much as _looks_ at him funny is getting the same treatment. I will _not_ tolerate this behavior." He closed his eyes and shuddered. When he next opened them, he looked more like himself. He looked back into the bathroom, taking in the curled up body and the red-spattered walls. His eyes briefly met Spock's as he glanced over his naked, blood-streaked body. "Dom," he croaked, looking away, "Take care of the body, and make sure everyone knows what happened and why. I do not endorse torture for prisoners in _my_ custody. Kimya… Get him cleaned up, would you? Put his boxers back on him and bring him out here."

Dom pulled out his communicator and began speaking in some Slavic tongue. Jim rinsed his hands off in the sink and stalked out of sight. Kimya let out a little sigh, shook his head, and picked up Spock with surprising gentleness and helped him stand in the sonic shower. Soon all of the blood and oil from Ed had disappeared, leaving Spock with only the mental residue to show that anything had occurred at all. He stepped out over the bloody puddle that marked where Ed had been murdered and let Kimya redress him and lead him out to the chair and couch.

Jim was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, but he stood when they approached. "Here, sit on the chair. Be right back."

Spock couldn't see what was happening, but suddenly his hands were freed from their strained backwards position. His wrists were quickly grabbed and recuffed, one on each arm of the chair, but he'd had no plans to make a break for it. Blood was recirculating into them in a prickling, tingling flood.

"Go stake out the area, make sure no one in the hotel's suspicious, would you?" Spock heard Jim ask. There were more heavy footsteps and a door opened, then shut.

"Here."

A paper cup full of steaming tea appeared near his right hand. He took it hesitantly and watched Jim sit down on the couch in front of him, holding his own cup.

"The chain on your right arm is a little longer; you should be able to drink. Oh yeah." He reached over and peeled the tape off of his mouth carefully. "Sorry about that."

"…Thank you," Spock whispered, his throat unused to speaking.

"Don't mention it. Drink your tea – it'll help your throat. It's an herbal blend that was advertised to help with muscle cramps."

Spock peered at him suspiciously, but awkwardly leaned over and took a sip. He doubted that it was poisoned, and in light of recent events, poisoning looked like an appealing way to die. "Why are you providing me with amenities?" He hated to question this sudden kindness, but he was insatiably curious.

Jim shrugged and gulped his tea noisily, his manner self-conscious and attempting nonchalant. "I dunno. I was so pissed at you yesterday for trying to run away, but then you fell down the stairs and cracked your head and, well, it's hard not to get attached to someone when you're tending someone's wounds. And, maybe, I see myself in you."

Spock raised an eyebrow slightly. Jim sighed and slumped his shoulders, not meeting the Vulcan's eyes. "You're everything I wanted to be when I was a kid. You're a respected and decorated Starship Captain with multiple doctorates and degrees from the best universities on Earth. You're married to a beautiful woman, you get to live day in and day out on that gorgeous flagship… 'Going boldly where no one has gone before' and all that.'" He smiled at him weakly. "I envied you, and I hated you. That's why I picked you to kidnap; not only are you vital to the integrity of the Federation and the Vulcan-Terran Alliance, I wanted to punish you for doing what I've always wanted to do."

"Why are you telling me this?" Spock asked with only a faint curiosity in his tone.

Jim chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Vulcans aren't the only ones who can calculate probabilities; I've done the math, and the likelihood that I'll escape with my life, weapons, and crew is less than ten percent."

"So why?"

"Maybe I don't care if I win. Maybe I just want to make those bastards suffer, make them realize all the shit their hypocritical policies put me through."

Spock studied him for a minute and took another sip of his tea. "The Federation… what have they done to you? Who are you, Jim Kirk?"

"Those are some deep questions," he grinned, then sobered as he took in the look on his face. "God, you're serious? You actually care? Why?"

"I care to hear your story because my life is not so gilded as you view it. I have suffered my own share of torments at the hands of my allies, but I was fortunate enough to find someone to listen to me." His inscrutable eyes flicked down to the wedding band resting on his sternum. "I believe that you, too, require sympathy."

"But I kidnapped you." It wasn't a question.

"You also…saved me from an undesirable fate."

Jim swallowed reflexively and sipped from his cup. "You really want to hear? Alright, then. My name is James Tiberius Kirk, son of George Samuel Kirk, First Officer of the USS _Kelvin_."

Spock's eyes shone with sudden understanding. "The border skirmishes of 2233."

"That's right. Captain Robau was killed in a photon blast and my father took control. He destroyed two Klingon cruisers, damaged two more, and managed to hold them off from the escape shuttles long enough for two more starships to arrive. His ship, the _Kelvin_, was destroyed in the crossfire, and I was born on a shuttle just outside of Federation space."

Spock nodded. "I understand, but that is hardly enough provocation to transform you into a terrorist."

"Lemme finish. I went back to Iowa with my brother and mom. She remarried when I was nine and went back to space. Starfleet was supposed to check in and make sure we were okay, but all we ever got was a pension check every month. Frank, the scumbag she married, beat us up whenever she was gone." Jim's voice shook with anger. "We'd go to school with bruises all over us. One time I came to school with a black eye, and the damn instructors believed me when I said I'd fallen down the front steps. The history teacher was a retired Starfleet officer; he was supposed to be trained in combat and everything, but he couldn't notice the injuries resulting from a fight? I never told anyone that Frank was abusive, but I was a kid; I was scared. I didn't know what to do. Damn government started convincing me it was _normal_ because, damn, there can't be anything wrong with it if a _Starfleet officer_ thinks it's okay, right? Then, when I was twelve, I drove a fucking _beautiful_ antique Corvette off the fucking quarry and no one batted an eye. I almost died! But no, there was no investigation into my homelife. The world was happy to forget that their darling war-hero-baby existed.

"Instead, they ship me off to Tarsus IV on the outbreak of a civil revolt and crop failure. We sent out distress signals _every day_, but it still took them weeks to respond. My aunt and uncle were murdered in front of me for refusing to give up their meager supply of flour in the house. I weighed 62 pounds when Starfleet finally showed up. I was 85 pounds when I got to Tarsus, and I was skinny for my height. I almost died."

He took a shaky breath. "Those incompetent idiots. They never even checked in or cared until I was seventeen…"

There was a stretch of silence before Spock asked, "What happened when you were seventeen?"

Jim scrubbed at his eyes and stretched nervously. "I was seventeen. I was already a bit of a delinquent, stole some things, hacked into everything, slept with probably half the girls and boys in town, and there was Frank. Frank never felt sympathetic, no pity or anything, after Tarsus. He played nice as long as my mom was around, but after she ran off to space, he turned nasty again. Well, we were at home, and, you gotta know that Frank was really old-fashioned. He was homophobic, xenophobic, misogynistic, you name it. He was yelling at me, sitting on the couch clutching one of those piss-tasting beers he liked to drink, and he was calling me a slut, a whore, a faggot, a pansy little man-fucker. He kept spitting this out and I was just trying to mind my own business, make a fucking sandwich, and he goes and calls my mom a whore and my dad a fag and an idiot and he said that he wished I'd died on Tarsus and while he was talking I came in to yell back at him, but then I was grabbing the lamp and before I knew it, we were on the floor and I was hitting him over and over again and his face was unrecognizable and I couldn't stop. When I finally did he wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, and I panicked. I called the emergency number and paramedics and police came, but he was already dead.

"They locked me up, and there were trials, and they said something about 'in light of the circumstances and the age of the client' and my sentence was reduced, but that was still fifteen years. I went to adult prison anyway, even though I was still only seventeen."

He stopped and drained the rest of his tea and fiddled with the cup. After a second he looked up into Spock's face.

"Today in the bathroom? Yeah, I have to confess, I didn't throw him off entirely for your sake. I've… I've been there before." He gave a hitching dry half-sob. "I know exactly how you felt. Those horror stories they still tell about prison? Yeah, there's truth to them. I was just a kid; I wasn't as toned and strong as I am now. I was still skinny and underfed. My roommate, he was a murderer and he told me he'd never really liked guys, but apparently a few years celibate in prison, any pretty face is good enough. And when I saw Ed on you and that look on your face, all I could see was Reggie and my prison cell. I… I snapped, and now he's dead and…" He sighed, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Spock. I'm sorry about all of this."

They were quiet for a moment before Spock ventured to speak again. "It is not too late to turn yourself in. Your freedom would be forfeit, but I could see to it that you will be unmolested in prison and that you would have access to knowledge, online courses, anything –"

Jim cut him off with a hopeless gesture. "Forget it, Spock. That's no way to live, and I'm in too deep already. I made a deal with the Klingon Empire. I said that I'd take down the Federation in exchange for those cruisers that you destroyed, the ones that damaged your ship and forced you to go where I wanted you to. If I don't collect, they'll send someone to kill me; they've infiltrated the Federation further than you'd ever suspect. They have allies, especially in terrorist groups like my Anti-Federation League. No matter what I do, my life is forfeit. It was forfeit from the very beginning…

"I like you, Spock. Maybe in another universe, we'd be friends. Maybe in another reality, none of this would happen; I'd be the whole person I want to be, a starship captain with friends, lovers, hopes, and a future. I'd die happily in my sleep. But this is not our reality. I'm doomed, and the best I can do is make sure you survive the fallout."

He looked at his watch and sighed. "It's time. The 'Fleet should be here by now." He pulled out his communicator and flipped it open, dialing a number. "Jinx. They in position?"

"Yes, boss," the voice crackled through the communicator. "There are three small ships from Vulcan, and the Starships _Lexington, Excalibur, _and _Enterprise_."

Jim's eyebrows rose in some surprise, but his tone didn't change. "Bring your equipment back down to the room and set up a live video feed. We're going to hail one of the ships."

"Yes, boss."

Jim closed the communicator and took Spock's now-empty cup. "The _Enterprise_, huh? Surprising; I thought they'd be too battered to make it."

"Undoubtedly Commander Sulu insisted on joining the rescue attempt."

"Your wife's on board, too, isn't she?" Jim asked soberly. "I'm sorry, and I wish I could tell her that, but I have my role to play. Is she holding up well, you think?"

"Nyota is an exceptionally strong and capable woman," said Spock. "She is utterly professional; most likely she is manning her console as we speak." He hesitated, but added. "She is pregnant."

Jim flinched. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. That didn't come up in my research."

"We were only made aware recently; it is not public knowledge as of yet."

"I'm sorry, Spock. If it means anything coming from a murderer, I'd offer my congratulations. The baby's quarter-Vulcan?"

"Yes. The doctors do not foresee any complications, however."

"That's good…" Jim trailed off, and the door opened, admitting Jinx.

"Alright, boss, gimme twenty seconds and I can get a comlink rigged for ya."

"Good lad," Jim said in a lofty tone and set about clearing the area around the couch.

"Okay, boss, it's done. I'm sending out a general hail to the Federation ships."

"Good job, Jinx." Jim sat down and adjusted the two-way view screen.

"Got one, sir!"

A voice crackled over the link. "This is the USS _Enterprise_. Identify yourself."

"This is Jim Kirk. I'm ready to negotiate."

He was switched to the view screen. His screen looked in on the bridge of the ship. Repairs seemed to be in the halfway stage, panels open and wires exposed. Sulu sat in the command chair, frowning at the screen. The rest of the bridge focused on their tasks, but managed to radiate their anger through body language and expressions. Nyota had half-turned in her chair to face the viewscreen, dressed in her official uniform once more with her hand on her earpiece.

"This is Acting Captain Sulu of the _Enterprise_. Where is Captain Spock?" The Asian demanded.

"Captain Spock is alive, though I wouldn't say well." Jim turned his screen so that they could see their captain undressed, cuffed to the chair, and obviously injured. He turned the screen back, smiling at the furious faces of the officers. "We had a little incident of insubordination. Mr. Spock was appropriately reprimanded. Now that you've ascertained that he's alive, I wish to negotiate."

"Sir," Nyota snapped from her station, scowling at her control board in an effort to maintain emotional control, "We're being hailed from the _Excalibur_. It's Admiral Pike, and he wishes to negotiate. May I open a three-way channel?"

"Yes, Lieutenant-Commander," Sulu nodded, his eyes never leaving Kirk's. Instead of flushing or scowling like the rest of the crew, Sulu only seemed to get harder and colder. Very Vulcan, in that way.

Kirk's screen split, and he found himself looking simultaneously into two Starship bridges. Pike sat in the command chair of the _Excalibur_, and his face was grave.

"Jim," Pike said almost soothingly, "I want you to rethink this."

Jim scowled at the screen. "Don't try to placate me, Pike. There's nothing to rethink. I have someone you want, and you have something I want. We trade, you let me walk. Deal?"

Pike sighed. "Jim, I know you feel like we've done you wrong, but this is not the way to deal with things. Turn yourself in, please, Jim, and we won't have to do any of this."

"Just shut up and give me my demands, Pike. One little conversation while I was on trial for murder doesn't make you any closer to me than a Melvaran mud flea."

Pike raised his hands in defeat. "Your choice, Jim. We're willing to give you the _Excalibur._ On board, we have the virus stored in a cold locker, the spare dilithium crystals are on the engineering deck, and we even have the blueprints and uranium. Let us beam you aboard the _Excalibur_. You can hand over Spock, and we'll let you go."

"I'm not that dumb, Pike. I'm taking my shuttle, and I'll beam him to the _Enterprise _right before I warp away."

"Whatever works for you."

"Then that's all we have to say to one another. Have a nice day." Jim cut the connection.

"They have no intention of letting you leave with their ship," Spock piped up. "I also doubt that they have brought the crystals and weaponry. You should surrender."

"That's not the point, Spock." Jim sighed and let his shoulders slump. He said, so quietly that only Spock could hear, leaving Jinx looking confused, "You ever hear of police-assisted suicide?"

Spock inhaled sharply, shocked. "Jim, do not do this. Turn yourself over to the authorities, and I will see to it that you receive psychiatric care."

Jim laughed, clear and amused. "Spock, to have your naivety… It's too late." He ripped off a strip of duct tape and approached him. "I'm sorry, Spock. Maybe we'll meet again, someday, in another universe. Until then, take care of your wife, your baby, your crew. Do it for me. Make sure the Federation doesn't create another monster like me." He taped over Spock's mouth lovingly. "Thank you for listening to me, but it's really too late. I killed my stepdad, I killed my own mother. I've done a hundred thousand horrible things, so let's take the slow ship to Hell, huh?"

"Boss," Jinx called from where he'd been packing up all of their equipment, "Shuttle's here. Dom and Kim're already on the roof."

"Coming." Jim uncuffed Spock and restrained his hands behind his back, recuffing him. He led him out of the room, up the stairs, and onto the roof. Spock sat in between Jim and Dom. Kimya was in the cockpit with another man, and Jinx crawled in and shut the door. They took off, up through the atmosphere into space, where they saw all the ships waiting for them.

"They have us in their tractor beam," the pilot stated for the cabin to hear.

"Let her pull us in," Jim said cheerfully. He whispered near-soundlessly for Spock to hear, "I can at least say that I've been on a Starship before I died, right?"

They were pulled into the loading deck. Pike was waiting, along with Sulu, who must have beamed aboard, and several burly security officers.

"Phasers out, boys," Jim said.

They filed out of the shuttle, weapons out. Jim came last, Spock held in front of him like a human shield. His phaser, set on 'kill,' was pointed at Spock's neck.

"Alright, Jim," said Pike, "I'm evacuating the crew as we speak. These officers are the last on board. Now, give us Spock."

"I told you I wouldn't do that, Pike," Jim said patiently.

Pike's gaze flicked to the security officers, who drew their phasers.

"Tell your crew to drop their weapons," Pike ordered.

"Who has the hostage, here?" Jim asked.

"Release Captain Spock," Sulu said, taking a step forward and flicking out his collapsible sword.

Jim smirked and took a threatening step forward. "What are you going to do, stick me with your sword? Try it, but I guarantee you'll hit Spock, too."

Sulu's frown deepened, but he stepped down.

Jim smiled, then raised his voice. "Oppression."

His crew stared at him.

"You heard me." He nodded at the Starfleet officers. "Oppression."

As one, they switched their phasers to kill and fired on the officers.

Pandemonium broke out. The officers ducked and rolled, avoiding the fire, and fired upon the rebels. Jim threw Spock to the ground and stepped out boldly into the flying gleams of light.

When the dust settled, as it were, all of the insurgents were laid out on the ground. Spock struggled to his knees and awkwardly made his way to Jim's body.

Pike came as well and put his hand on the young man's neck. "Dammit! He's dead! Who had their settings on 'kill'?"

"None of us" was the general consensus.

Spock made a noise and Pike pulled the tape off of his face apologetically. "Admiral, I witnessed at least five stuns impact his body. As you are aware –"

"That'd stop his heart alright. Shit." He rummaged in Kirk's pockets and pulled out the handcuff key. "C'mon, let's get you to Medical. McCoy, M'Benga, and Nyota are all there waiting. You guys, check the rest of these scumbags and throw them in the brig. Take Kirk to the morgue."

Spock stood, released, and looked down at the crumpled body at his feet. The whole situation was very surreal, anticlimactic. He saw now why modern filmmakers complained of the phaser technology – it killed so suddenly, so instantly, that it was almost unbelievable. He allowed Pike to wrap a jacket around his shoulders and was led off to the Sickbay.

The lights of the 'Bay were harsh and blinding, but that didn't quell the wild joy that flared in him at the sight of Nyota standing with his doctors, her arms crossed protectively over her womb. She turned when she saw him and, in a remarkable show of restraint, did _not_ launch herself at him, but instead held out her hands for a Vulcan-style reunion. And if the manual kisses were inappropriately intimate for public display, well, the humans wouldn't notice.

McCoy let her sit on the biobed next to Spock as he ran his tricorder over him.

"Three cracked ribs, a healing concussion, severe bruising, a dislocated patella (how are you walking on that?), and some arterial cyanosis in the fingers. Luckily, you haven't been…" He trailed off, unsure of whether to mention what they'd all feared.

"No, Leonard," Spock said calmly, "I was not successfully sexually assaulted." Nyota gripped his hand tighter in her own, the only outward sign of her distress.

"Successfully?" McCoy asked hesitantly, preparing the bone regenerator.

"Kirk merely used the suggestion to prompt an emotional reaction from me to aggravate the Admiralty. A mentally ill subordinate took him at his word after I'd been injured in an escape attempt, but I was spared the indignity due to Kirk's emotional reaction to the situation on discovery."

"Dare I ask?"

"He drew a blade and stabbed his subordinate to death with it," Spock said quietly.

Everyone in the room collectively shuddered. Pike turned away, not meeting anyone's gaze.

McCoy hesitated, but firmed his expression. "We'll talk about this later, Spock. Plus you'll have to write a report on your time in captivity. Until then, let's get you fixed up."

"Admiral Pike," Spock called out, "May I speak with you alone?"

"After I get this hooked up," McCoy said, "Then I'll go prepare some anesthesia for you; fixing your knee will hurt. Talk while I'm doing that." He finished hooking up the bone regenerator and set it to working on the ribs, then retreated with M'Benga to the medicine cabinet. Nyota gave Spock one last Vulcan kiss and promised she'd be just across the 'Bay, leaving them alone. Pike drew the privacy screen and sat on the bedside chair.

"What is it, Spock?"

"It is Kirk," Spock said. "I spoke with him earlier today, and he informed me that he was well-aware of the risks he was taking. He suggested to me that his actions were 'police-assisted suicide.' I merely wanted you to be aware of his intentions to prevent any misplaced feelings of guilt."

"Thank you, Spock, but it's a little late for that," Pike sighed. "I'm well aware of my part in this debacle, and I'm sorry you had to get involved. This goes back way farther than you'd guess.

"I was in love with his mother, before she'd ever met his father, but when George came and swept her off her feet, I gave my blessing. They were perfect together, and then the _Kelvin_ disaster happened, and I assumed that she'd take care of her boys. I was still besotted, and in my folly, I never checked back in with them, just continued advancing my career. Then I heard he was on trial for murder, that it was a messy business involving years of child abuse, and I realized what an idiot I was. I went back to Iowa to see if I could help him out, offer him any comfort, but I was too late. Little Jimmy was too broken to fix anymore, and prison just warped him further.

"Jim was my sin, my burden, and I regret that you had to get involved in this, Spock."

Spock nodded absently, his thoughts whirring. "He told me he envied me, that he'd dreamt of being a Starship Captain. Do you think…?"

"Use your logic, Spock," Pike said tiredly, standing and popping his back. "What-ifs are useless and serve no purpose. It's too late now. Yes, he'd have been great _if_ George hadn't died, _if_ Winona had stayed on Earth, _if_ she hadn't married Frank Brown, _if_ someone had reported the child abuse earlier, _if_ he hadn't gone to Tarsus… But in the end, ifs are useless. They only serve to fuel our guilt. Let McCoy and M'Benga fix you up, then we'll get you back to your ship. Then you'll spend the night with your wife, and report to me in the morning. Plan?"

"Indeed." Spock nodded his assent and watched him leave, shoulders stooped under the weight of his burden. His doctors bustled in and administered the drugs, and before he knew it, he was back in his Captain's seat, his wife gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl with skin like café au lait and straight black hair, and he was taking a sabbatical to teach at the Academy until he and his wife could return to space. He lived by love and logic, but sometimes, unexpectedly, he'd reach for a gap in his life and think of Jim Kirk, and wonder at the opportunities missed and the life gone unlived.


End file.
